


There's A Lot I've Not Forgotten

by in48frames



Category: NCIS: Los Angeles
Genre: F/M, Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-27
Updated: 2013-09-23
Packaged: 2017-12-24 20:45:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 12,981
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/944462
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/in48frames/pseuds/in48frames
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After the season four finale, Kensi has to hold it together until Deeks is found. And after that, too.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this over the three weeks directly following the S4 finale. I apologize for the delay and hope you enjoy. Part 1 of 4.

It doesn't take long for Kensi to figure out that things can be completely the same and completely different at the exact same time.

She doesn't sleep that night, doesn't even make a pretense of it; just changes into sweats for comfort and holes up on the couch with America's Next Top Model and a pint of ice cream. She eats mechanically, eyes fixed on a spot in the air before her, so caught up is she in the chaos inside her head.

She would have stayed at the office all night―until she dropped―but Hetty called it―for all of them. They'd already been on the case for thirty-six hours and she promised to have her night team doing what needed to be done. "That's an order," she said.

Callen is almost certainly out there somewhere disregarding it, and Kensi herself has collected her keys and gun at least three times, crossing to the glass doors and pushing aside the sheers to scope out the street. Each time she realizes that, as much as she may want to, she's no good on her own. She needs her team, she needs [backup](http://www.fanfiction.net/s/9636052/1/There-s-A-Lot-I-ve-Not-Forgotten), and she needs to not be losing her mind with fear and worry.

Usually she can work through the fear, focus so single-mindedly on her goal that the demons can't plague her, but take away the work and all the threads of her expand and contract in ways she can't organize or control.

Deeks and Sam are missing, in God knows what condition, and she would have felt this way―the fear twisting in her gut, the worry making it hard to breathe―yesterday or a week ago.

Except it isn't quite the same. She wants to pretend that it is, but it isn't.

Because Deeks kissed her. Of his own free will. While they were on a job. That wasn't undercover. She goes over those points again and again, trying to divine an ulterior motive. If he meant something _else_ by it. If he were just making a point.

In the rush of a moment you can't always keep [track](http://www.fanfiction.net/s/9636052/1/There-s-A-Lot-I-ve-Not-Forgotten) of the details; but she remembers his face, after. It was deadly serious. Was the kiss deadly serious? She still has no idea.

( _How's that for communication?_ It fucking sucks, Deeks. [Jesus Christ](http://www.fanfiction.net/s/9636052/1/There-s-A-Lot-I-ve-Not-Forgotten), use your words for once.)

Deeks and Sam are missing. She would always have been terrified. But if he kissed her and then―If she doesn't even get to ask him what the hell he thought he was doing―If that coal in her stomach labeled "Potential" was stoked by a perfect (and perfectly unexpected) kiss, and then―She can't handle that thought. She finds her hand absently pinching at her skin, hard enough to bruise, and tries to focus on the TV.

She can't.

The racing in her mind doesn't even pause to complete one thought before stumbling on to the next. She imagines Deeks and Sam dead at the bottom of a quarry. Maybe they were sent over the edge alive; maybe dead, but tortured. Maybe they had pieces cut off of them, maybe their eyes were taken. There could have been an explosion. Drowning. An explosion followed by a fire that burned them alive. She's seen it all and she can see it all again in her mind, familiar faces behind the horror.

Did Hetty know what she was sending Kensi home to? This is hell. And she feels guilty for even thinking that, because whatever Sam and Deeks are going through is unaccountably worse than her own stupid ruminating. At least she's safe and comfortable―physically―and safe. And what about Sam's family? Kensi got Michelle out of the fix she was in with only fighting wounds―the equivalent of a fireman "only" inhaling a little smoke.

Michelle is home with the kids. Good. But if Sam doesn't come home?

She makes a mental note to check on Monty if they don't have any news by tomorrow. Deeks gave her a key, a long, long time ago, with the understanding that it would only be used in emergencies. That's what partners do―God forbid there ever be a need. Like Monty going hungry because his owner― _his poppa_ , she hears in her head, and grimaces―is missing and possibly… Well, he's missing.

Kensi sighs and stretches out on the couch, reminding herself that there is nothing she can do right now. Not even if she imagines with crystal clarity where Deeks is.

Closing her eyes, she says to the room, "Be alive, Deeks. Please still be alive."

Just before dawn, she dozes off on the couch. She wakes again as the light is turning from blue to yellow, with a jolt, checking her watch to make sure she hasn't wasted valuable time. It's just turning six, and she doesn't think this is what Hetty meant when she said "Take the night," but Kensi is getting dressed and going back to the office.

On the way, she stops to feed Monty (and, if she's honest, cry just a little into his fur; you can't prove a thing).

* * *

The overnight team was busy planting faulty intel in Iranian networks and tracking the movements of all involved parties. Thank God, Hetty was right about them; it's only an hour or two of busting down doors before they find Sam and Deeks abandoned in a warehouse; one in a soundproof room and barely breathing, the other fully unconscious in the workroom. Both are tied to chairs. Both look terrifyingly damaged.

Something the team did last night or today must have scared off their captors; or maybe they just gave up on getting the information they were seeking. It doesn't really matter―they did enough.

Ambulances are called immediately and while Callen goes to Sam, Kensi drops to her knees beside Deeks and starts working gently at his bonds. She talks, steady and quiet, though he is deep under and shows no sign of hearing.

"We're here, Deeks. We found you. You knew we would, didn't you? Didn't doubt us for a second, I'm sure. We're going to get you to the hospital and get you all checked out and you're going to be just fine. You might be stuck in that hospital bed for a few days, but you've been there, done that, nothing new about it. I fed Monty, Deeks. I know somewhere in there you've been worrying about him, so you can stop that now. I fed him and checked on him and he was just fine. Just as fine as you're going to be."

The paramedics stop her nonsense babble as they move her gently aside and lift Deeks onto a gurney. They start an IV at once and start to wheel him away.

Kensi hangs back for a second, hands dangling uselessly at her sides, before skipping forward and saying, "Can I ride with you guys? I'm his partner."

* * *

At the hospital, things are dire. Kensi thought she'd feel better knowing Deeks was getting care, but Deeks is rushed off to surgery and Kensi is led to a waiting room, where she finds Hetty, of course, already waiting.

As soon as Kensi sits down at her side, Hetty takes her hand; though Kensi is surprised, she honestly needs the physical comfort after the last twenty-four hours or so. Kensi says, "Do you―Do you know anything?" and Hetty smiles gently as she says, "They just got here."

"Of course." She takes a breath. "Will―Are they going to tell us what's going on? We aren't family…"

"Well." Hetty winks, and Kensi is starting to wonder at her steady demeanor. "I'm his next of kin, and you…" From the pocket of her blazer, Hetty pulls out a gold wedding ring. "I'm certain this will fit you."

A choked, painful laugh escapes Kensi as she takes the ring and slides it onto her left ring finger.

"They won't notice he doesn't have one to match?"

"Well, he has just been in a terrible accident, after all. I'm sure it easily could have gotten lost in the wreckage."

"And what wreckage is that?" Kensi asks wryly.

"It was a terrible car cr―Wait, no. No, he fell through the floor in his bathroom. A compromised pipe weakened the joists between the bathroom and living room. Really a terrible accident."

Kensi looks at their joined hands and asks, "How can you possibly be so calm?"

A cross between a laugh and a harrumph comes from Hetty. "It's all I can do, dear, to stave off the hysteria. Right now, before I know any better, I am believing with all my heart that both my agents will be fine. At this point I really don't give a fig who calls me naïve or unrealistic, I'm going to―" She cuts off and whispers, "Oh dear, there's a doctor."

The doctor is… let's be honest, Kensi doesn't care and won't remember one single detail about what the doctor looks like. He says, "Martin Deeks?" and Kensi's heart jumps in her chest.

Hetty is on her feet and across the room before Kensi's brain can send the message to the rest of her body to get up. When she reaches them, Hetty is saying, "Yes, I'm his next of kin, and this is his wife, Kensi Blye. What can you tell us, doctor?" Her tone is brisk and businesslike and for just a second Kensi thinks, _She can take care of this. She can make everything okay._

The doctor's next words quickly wipe that thought from her mind.

"We had to perform emergency surgery when Mr. Deeks came in to stop bleeding into his abdomen, caused by blunt force trauma to his side. He has two fractured ribs and three broken fingers, but the most damage has been done to his face. You said he… fell through a floor?"

The doctor is suffering no fools, but when Hetty nods matter-of-factly, he simply returns the nod.

"Thankfully, we see no trauma to the brain, but he has lost several teeth and broken his nose. There's a lot of swelling and bruising, which will go down with time. Three stitches above his left eye." He seems to come to the end of a list on his clipboard, at which point he looks up and alternates a sympathetic gaze between the two women.

"As I said, we don't see any brain trauma, but Mr. Deeks has yet to regain consciousness. We believe his body is in shock, so we are keeping him in the ICU on fluids and pain medication. We are hoping he'll wake up by morning, at which point we can move him to a regular room for a few more days of bed rest and observation. As long as he wakes up shortly, Mr. Deeks should be able to recover nicely. Now, if you'll follow me, you can see your friend and husband."

As the doctor listed Deeks's injuries, Kensi stood stock still at Hetty's side, her hand covering her mouth and a desperate―to keep control, to stay standing―look in her eyes. It's not a bullet wound, his organs are sound, but the description of his face―his missing teeth―strikes horror deep in her core.

Hetty's hand at her elbow gets Kensi moving again, and they walk briskly after the doctor.

At the swinging doors to the ICU, the doctor turns to them and smiles gently, saying, "One family member at a time."

Tugging on Kensi's arm, Hetty pulls her down to whispering level and says, "I'll just pop in and let him know I'm here. Then he's all yours." She waits for a response, holding eye contact, and Kensi nods helplessly.

Hetty disappears through the doors; Kensi stands awkwardly in the corridor, too anxious to lean against the wall or look relaxed for the benefit of those around her. After a moment, the doctor nods and touches her arm, heading the opposite direction down the hall.

Thankfully she isn't left hanging for long, as Hetty reappears in moments. She looks exactly the same as when she went in, as much as Kensi tries to draw a reaction from her expression. Pulling her down again, Hetty makes eye contact―and it's this obvious attempt to impart strength that almost breaks Kensi right there.

"Just be his partner, Ms. Blye. You've become rather good at that." She kisses Kensi on one cheek and pats the other with her cool, dry hand.

Then Kensi is left alone before the swinging doors, feeling just as awkward and lost. Yes, she's done this before, but this feels worse and bigger and just _worse_ for so many reasons. But he needs her, so Kensi draws in a fortifying breath, straightens her spine, and pushes through the door.

Waving half-heartedly at the nurses in their station, Kensi spots Deeks's mop of hair from across the room and makes a beeline for his little cubicle. There's a chair, which she pulls up to the side of his bed.

Only then does she let herself look, really look, cataloguing every mark from head to toe. She swallows hard and, against her better judgement, gently opens his mouth.

"Oh God, Deeks." _I go by just Deeks down here on Earth_ , she hears in her head, and says out loud, "I could hold an entire conversation with you all by myself. You're so predictable, you know?" She leans her forearms on the bed beside his limp arm, then lets herself rest one hand on his unblemished forearm. She can barely bring herself to look him in the face, it's so grossly altered from its usual state. So she settles for studying his arm, nearly untouched, right up to the splint that holds his wrist and two broken fingers in place.

Much as he makes of his pale Norwegian complexion, his arm has a healthy tan. The hair is a dark shade of gold, and she maps the three or four freckles spotted along its length. She's probably never been closer to Deeks's skin, for an extended period of time, on purpose. It's not really a partner thing, she guesses.

But Deeks kissed her. Of his own free will. While they were on a job. That wasn't undercover. And now he can't even move his lips; when he does they'll probably start to bleed.

She puts her head down, resting her forehead on his arm, her hands wrapped around on either side. She says, muttering to herself mostly but hoping Deeks can hear her, "I'm sorry I wasn't there with you, Deeks. I'm sorry you had to go through this alone. I hope you knew that I was safe and I was coming to find you. I'm sure you were scared. I know you were in pain. But Deeks, you made it. We got you and you made it and you're going to be okay.

"You're safe now. I hope you can feel that you're safe now. I hope you come back to us soon."

Afraid she'll slow the bloodflow to his hand, Kensi backs up, folding her arms on the edge of the bed and putting her head down on them. In the hush of the ICU and the slow, regular noises of the machines, it isn't long before she dozes off. When she wakes, it's to the sound of a moan, and she's wide awake in less than a second.

Reaching for the call button she spotted earlier, Kensi stands up and leans over the bed to see Deeks's face. His eyelids are fluttering and Kensi's heart breaks in her chest when she sees the tears trapped behind them.

"Deeks?"

A nurse rushes into the room and Kensi says urgently, "I think he's in pain." Then she takes several long steps back to give the nurse room to work. The nurse pushes something into his IV, checks his monitors, and flashes a light into his eyes. When she lifts up his gown and palpates his belly, Deeks groans again and Kensi can't stop her hands from twisting around each other, wringing out her worries.

"Are you the wife?"

Kensi looks up from Deeks's face long enough to see the nurse addressing her, and nods quickly.

"This is a good sign. It means he's coming around. Are you going to stay with him?"

She nods again, feeling like a bobblehead wound too tight.

"He should be okay for the next few hours. Just talk to him, make skin contact, let him know you'll be there waiting when he wakes up." The nurse smiles encouragingly, gesturing for Kensi to return to the side of the bed. "He's making good progress."

Then she's gone, and it's just Kensi and Deeks again. The only thing she can think of is to keep doing what she was doing, touching his arm. It's so strange and awkward―neither romantic nor friendly nor even familial. Just a weird place to focus on. But they've never been exactly conventional, so she sits down again and runs her hand down his arm, shoulder to wrist, starting back at the shoulder again.

"You should know," she says, mindful of the openness of the ICU and the potential of listening ears. "I'm only touching you because she told me to. But if that's what's going to get you to wake up, and I'm doing that, I'm still being a good partner. Even if this is incredibly weird. Just like you," and a note of fondness creeps into her voice.

Of course that's the perfect time for Deeks to turn his head on the pillow, to one side and then back again.

Kensi pauses. "Um. Obviously I want you to wake up. But I'm not about to say anything incriminating here, especially if you're just pretending you can't hear me. Not that you would do that when I'm scared out of my mind, because that would be the ultimate dick move. In case you're listening, now you know."

She keeps stroking his arm, watching his eyes now. One is swollen shut but the other is essentially untouched, and still. Her hand settles just below his elbow, her thumb smoothing over the soft skin inside the joint, and she goes silent. She's run out of things to say that aren't things she refuses to say. Even if he is unconscious.

It's ten minutes or an hour or three hours later―Kensi has no idea, but she's been watching his face the entire time―when he groans again. Kensi stands up, leans over the bed, and sees him open his eyes. He doesn't see her, sees something else, and a whimper comes from his throat. Kensi puts her hand back on his arm and says, "Deeks. Deeks, I'm here. It's Kensi. I'm here."

Slowly, slowly, his eyes focus on her face and recognize her. His head whips from side to side to ascertain where he is (Are we safe? Is Kensi in danger too?) and then he looks back at her and his body, which had tensed up from head to toe, relaxes.

"This must… be…" he says with difficulty, past swollen lips and with a tongue unaccustomed to new gaps where there have always been teeth.

Kensi can't help but smile. "Heaven?"

Deeks nods and tries to smile, but doesn't respond. He seems dopey from the meds, adding to his tongue's confusion.

"Sorry to disappoint―again―but you're definitely still here on earth with me."

He nods again and winces. "I know. Hurts."

In half a second Kensi has the call button in her hand. "Do you want me to call the nurse?"

He starts to shake his head, then looks away stony-faced and nods once. Kensi stands back and watches as the nurse checks his vitals, chattering cheerily the whole time, and then shows him how to use the patient-controlled morphine button. She tells him about the options to replace his lost teeth (more surgery, in his mouth, and his eyes skip quickly to Kensi's and then quickly away again), then asks if he's hungry.

"You'll be on the soft food diet, of course," the nurse says, winking, and the best Deeks can do is nod and try to smile. By the time the nurse leaves, Kensi's smiling softly.

"Look at you, surrounded by nurses and you can't even flirt."

"Hell," Deeks says, and Kensi huffs a laugh.

"You're making so many jokes, you must be feeling just great. I'll leave you to it, then," and she starts to get up from the chair, turning away from Deeks.

Cue a loud, painful sounding groan, which brings Kensi back and scared in two point five seconds flat. She leans over the bed again and Deeks looks her straight in the eye… then his gaze drops about a foot and Kensi flops back into the chair.

"You are disgusting. Even in the freaking ICU, you are disgusting. How do you do it?"

Deeks manages a smirk and Kensi isn't mad, not at all, because he's going to be okay, and this could have ended so differently.

Pulling herself upright, Kensi leans on the bed and returns her hand to his arm just below his elbow. She says, "I don't want you to take this as encouragement for your lasciviousness."

Deeks widens his eyes, _Go on…_

"I'll stay a little longer, only because you scared the hell out of me. And I'm calling Hetty to take over when I leave." Kensi levels a challenging look at him and he nods.

"I'll… take it."

They lock eyes for a moment and Kensi can feel something―something coming off him. But she swore she wouldn't do it this way and so she looks down and keeps her hand on his arm. When he's better, they'll talk. Really talk, or else something bad will happen.

So when he dozes off again, Kensi makes a quick, quiet exit, calling Hetty from the corridor. "He came out of it, but he's sleeping now. Can you be there when he wakes up? Thanks, Hetty. I'm going to get some sleep before coming in tomorrow. No, of course I'm coming in. There's nothing wrong with me. Don't you start worrying about _me_ , too."

_I always worry about you, Ms. Blye. You know that._


	2. Chapter 2

That night, Kensi sleeps like the dead, her demons finally too exhausted to keep fighting her. In the morning she takes Monty for a long walk, then heads in to work. She asks Hetty to let Deeks know that she'll take care of Monty until he can again. Hetty tells Kensi about Deeks's oral surgery the next day, with careful eyes. Kensi nods, and sends flowers to the hospital.

She figured he wouldn't be able to use his phone with three fingers splinted, but she should have known better. By noon on the second day, texts start arriving in her inbox, likely typed by a sweet-talked (-mumbled) nurse. They arrive hours apart, but don't let up.

_Kensi._

_You haven't tasted pureed meat until you've tasted hospital-issue pureed meat._

_Hey Kens._

_Kensiiii._

_I have a private room now, Kens._

_Come visit._

_Kensi._

_This is Dr. Barrett with the results of your pap smear._

_Nothing?_

_You should have seen the nurse's face._

_I told her it was a roleplay thing._

_Kens. Please._

_I know you're not on a case._

_Hetty is not very agreeable to typing texts for me._

_Kensi._

_Hey Kens._

She just can't. Not right now, not when Deeks kissed her. Of his own free will. While they were on a job. That wasn't undercover. Not when that was his idea of _communication_. She's going to deal with it; she promised herself she would, because there's only so far you can go on subtext and innuendo. But _he started it_. He's the one who owes her an explanation.

That's what she tells herself―but when, on day five, around noon, Deeks walks into the bullpen grinning, she springs from her chair like a startled rabbit. If she had more time to think about it, she wouldn't be surprised at all; could anything be more _Deeks_ than to take Hetty's car straight from the hospital to the office?

As it is, she says, " _Deeks_ ," accusingly, causing Callen to look up.

He says, "Hey man! How's it going?," getting up to clasp Deeks's hand. Of course, Deeks's hands are both out of commission, so they end up awkwardly waving at each other.

Seeing this, Kensi asks, "How can you possibly be going home if you can't even use your hands?"

Looking at her for the first time, Deeks smirks and holds up his hands, fingers splayed. "I have seven good fingers and a mind made for improvising. Don't you worry about a thing."

Kensi rolls her eyes and looks down, mindlessly shuffling papers on her desk.

Deeks walks closer, entering her field of vision on the other side of her desk.

His voice is quieter, close. "Listen, before we tell everyone else I'm here, can you and I have a quick chat?"

When she looks up, Callen is back at his desk and (very deliberately) engrossed in his paperwork. She looks to Deeks with a _no_ on the tip of her tongue, but his eyes hold the _please_ he can't risk saying aloud, and sometimes she is powerless against him.

She follows him around to the gym, and then he opens the door to the equipment storage room and holds it for her. She furrows her brow at him, dubious, and he raises his own brows and waves her in.

She waits for him to situate himself, then walks to the shelving unit directly opposite and leans back on it.

He never takes his eyes off her. Kensi stares at his feet (flipflops―at least he doesn't have to struggle with laces).

"You've been ignoring me," Deeks starts, softly, and Kensi holds up a hand, glancing at his face.

"Hold on. Aren't you still on some heavy pain meds?"

Deeks lifts a hand, palm up, like _so?_ "Deservedly, I think."

"I'm not arguing," Kensi says, smiling just a little. "But is this the best time… to…?"

"It's the only time, Kens. I can't stand you ignoring me. All I could do in the hospital was think."

Kensi sets her jaw, staring at the floor.

And Deeks says, "I think I misjudged the situation. If I kissed you when you didn't want it, I'm so sorry. It's inexcusable."

She looks up, incredulous, listening to the words he's clearly memorized and rehearsed with her mouth half-open. His eyes are glued to the floor a few feet on front of him.

"And if that's why you haven't been talking to me, Kensi, I couldn't be more sorry. I don't ever want to make you feel unsafe or lose your trust in me. I hope you can still have faith in the fact that—"

"Deeks," she says sharply, then, hardly believing he could have gotten _there_ from what happened. She turns and puts her hand to her forehead, pushing her hair back, then turns back and paces across the floor, steady like a lioness approaching her prey. When she stands in front of him, she puts her hands on his chest, says, "Deeks" again, gentle, and leans up on tiptoe to kiss him, soft but purposeful, once and then again (so he can't mistake it for anything else).

Then she turns and walks back across the room, facing him when she's all the way on the other side.

He stands bewildered, his hands hanging loose at his sides, his face as dopey as all the pain meds in the world could make him. "What?" he says.

"The fact that you call it communication doesn't make it communication," she says, heavy on each word. She lets that sink in, turns and puts her hand on the knob, then says, "I told you what I need." She stares at him, neither hopeful nor hopeless, then opens the door and leaves him behind.

When she gets back to the bullpen, the rest of the team has gathered, happy with glasses of something fizzy and alcoholic. Kensi goes to the kitchenette, pours a glass of water, and walks back out just as Deeks is arriving. Someone hands him a glass and Kensi is there in an instant, taking it out of his hand and giving him the water instead.

"I bet you don't even know what meds you're on," she mutters under her breath before turning to grin at the others.

"Party pooper," he mutters back lightly.

They raise toasts, to Sam at home with his family, to Deeks living to fight another day, to the team, the team, the team. Kensi is happy, they're all happy, but she knows in the pit of her stomach that it's coming: the thing you can't turn back from, the moment that changes everything.

She knows it as sure as she knows that Deeks doesn't take his eyes off her, that whenever he can be, he's by her side. Higher than her stomach, somewhere in her chest, she feels a tickle that, if she were to name it (which she won't) she would call excitement.

When Kensi gets home, she changes into sweats, pops open a beer, and curls up on the couch. She sips on her beer and stares into space, waiting; she doesn't figure it will be long, and she's right. The rap of knuckles on glass still startles her, but when she shifts the sheer she needs only a split second to confirm her guess.

Opening the door for Deeks, she heads back toward the kitchen. "Want a drink?"

"Sure."

Kensi comes back with a frosty plastic bottle of water and Deeks smiles and shakes his head. "Are you my minder?"

"If it means keeping you alive, you're damn right I am." She hesitates a second. "You're going to take care of yourself, right? No repeats of the Great Hospital Escape of last time?"

Deeks lowers himself carefully to the couch and makes a face that belies his easy demeanor, wrapping an arm around his abdomen. "I seem to remember escaping that hospital to save your life, but what do I know."

Not at all mollified, Kensi says, "Be good, okay? When do you come back to work?"

"When my doctor clears me. At least a week. God knows how on earth I'll pass a week with no work and nothing that requires actually using my body or hands," he says, widening his eyes and filling them with tragedy.

Kensi leans back against the arm of the couch and sips her beer, smirking. "You'll find a way."

There's a pause.

Clearing her throat, Kensi says, "How's your new teeth?" and bares her own. Deeks returns the expression and holds still as Kensi leans forward to get a good look. She brushes her thumb across his chin, under his bottom lip, then leans back and folds her legs up in front of her. "Looking good," she says, eyes just higher than her knees. "Sore?"

Deeks pouts a little and nods. "But they're permanent, so it's a one-time thing."

Kensi nods. With her legs up and her arms braced across her middle (one hand dangling her bottle of beer over the edge of the couch) she knows she's putting up barriers. Will it matter?

She stares across her knees at Deeks and he looks back at her in his quiet, sad way.

Is this going to end the same way the conversation in the gun room did?

Those sad eyes don't say enough to her.

In a move that feels absurdly brave for what it is, Kensi straightens her legs and sets her feet on the floor, facing Deeks across the couch. She puts her palms on her thighs, relaxing her fingers. And she meets his eyes, and she says, "So?"

Deeks stares at her a moment longer, taking her measure, then he clears his throat and nods. "So. You were right. You wanted words, and I kissed you. Not the same thing. I get that. To me, it meant the same thing, but that's to me."

He inhales slowly, closing his eyes for a second. "The thing is, there's no middle ground―if I say what I _mean_ , and that―that fucking terrifies me. I don't want to be the reason that our friendship and our partnership goes down in flames. I've tried, for so long―"

Kensi can hardly breathe. "Deeks, just say it."

"Kensi, I'm in love with you. I can't believe you don't know that. I have been for… a long, long time. And you might have thought it was something that would pass or fade away but, Kensi, it's only gotten stronger. And I hate being this person, this person in love with his partner, but," He raises his hands helplessly. "It's been so long and it hasn't changed. I don't think I have a choice in the matter."

Kensi sits silent and still through most of this. She doesn't exactly meet his eyes and he doesn't exactly look for hers. When he's done, he looks sideways at her, and she takes a big gulp of air, then another. In slow motion she turns, bringing her feet up on the couch again, inching them forward until her toes are touching his jeans. She cocks her head and really looks at him for the first time since he started spilling… everything.

"Kensi…" he says.

"Mm?"

"You're smiling…" and he's smiling too, but like he doesn't want to, like he shouldn't.

Kensi brings her fingers up to her mouth and finds that, yes, it's true. She doesn't stop it. She's looking at his stupid face and it makes her happy and that's stupid but it's true and it's…

"Kensi."

"Mm?"

"You're killing me here. Please say something."

"Something I actually mean?" she asks, and Deeks raises one shoulder in a shrug―he doesn't want to ask too much and now his sad eyes are breaking her inside. How can he have such sad eyes?

Drawing her legs up beneath her, Kenzi crawls forward the few feet to where he sits. She kneels beside him and puts one hand on his knee, raises the other to his neck.

"It took me a long time, Deeks. We would play at flirting and it would flutter in my belly but I said no, I don't want that. I still… I'm scared too, Deeks. I'm scared of something as big as this, because it is big. But," she whispers, "I love you."

He shakes his head, looks away, and she lifts her hand from his knee to the side of his face, turning him back.

"If you were just a crude, wise-cracking jackass, I would have been fine with our little games. They would have been fine. But that isn't even one tenth of the person you are, and even though it took a long… long time for the better qualities to come out," she smiles and scrunches her nose, one second of silly before her face regains its gravity. "You're the person I want to love, Deeks. The person I would give almost anything to be with. I can't believe I just said that―it's been _so long_ since I've said something like that, since I've meant it. It's you, Deeks. It's no one but you."

It's Deeks's turn to gulp at the air, like they're running out of oxygen. He slips an arm between her side and the couch, curling it around her waist and pulling her forward. She stops him with a hand on his chest, saying "I don't want to hurt you," and he doesn't even smirk, just flat-out grins.

"My legs are fine," he says, and pulls her fully onto his lap; Kensi being Kensi, she immediately swings one leg around so she's kneeling over his thighs, the better to leap to her feet should she need to. Deeks steadies her as she does it, his hands on her waist.

When she settles, they look at each other for a minute, or maybe two―his eyes crinkle at the corners; they hardly look sad at all anymore―and then Kensi very deliberately leans up and tilts her chin to kiss him properly for the first time.

As soon as she presses her lips to his the shock fires to her belly and she brings her hands up to cradle his face, trying to get closer to him without at the same time hurting him.

For the first time, her stomach isn't swirling with fear or urgency or confusion. She can enjoy the kiss, and she does, she does. It feels surreal, like she's dreaming and she'll wake up any minute―but she never dreams about Deeks. She never dreams about the things closest to her heart.

(Just don't ask about nightmares.)

Still, she leans back to look at him, rubbing her thumbs through the stubble on his chin and then up around his eyes. She strokes at his temples and looks him in the eye. "This is real?"

"I won't promise you anything, Kens," he says honestly. "Because I can hardly believe it myself."

She kisses him again; once more. "Are you sore?"

"I can take another painkiller," he says, grinning so big he might as well have his tongue hanging out like Monty.

"Is it time?"

He twists his wrist and squints to see his watch without actually letting go of her. "Yep!"

She torques her upper body and takes his wrist in both her hands so she can see the time. Of course, she has no idea when he took his last dose, and she has no interest in challenging him. It's not that she doesn't trust him―she does; it's just that he's so much more apt to look after anyone else before himself.

Greedily maintaining ownership of his hand (has she ever held his hand before? She can't quite recall), Kensi looks up past her lashes and says, "Where are they?"

Deeks cocks his hip up a little and then rolls his eyes and grimaces.

Kensi places her hand lightly over where she knows the stitches are and whispers, "Careful," before climbing off him and picking up the water bottle from the coffee table. Deeks stands up and wrestles the pill bottle out of his jeans pocket as Kensi takes a drink of water. She hands him the bottle and watches as he gulps down a pill and then puts both bottles down on the coffee table.

Deeks settles back down on the couch with a groan and Kensi sits at his side, under his arm. She tries to nestle into the couch rather than his side, but he pulls her closer.

"That side's pretty good," he says, and leans his head back against the cushion.

(It's weird and normal and normal and weird. Come at Kensi from any angle and she can take you down in ten seconds or less, but offer affectionate physical contact and she's a baby fawn who can't even find her feet. She spends time with her mother now and they are affectionate; Kensi can't think of another living person she would let touch her without restriction. A week ago Deeks wouldn't have been on that list. The weirdest thing of all is that the only thing changed is the removal of a gossamer sheer layer of pretense: We are just partners. Poof. Barrier gone.)

Wondering why he didn't wear sweats or something, Kensi rests a hand on his thigh and says, "You can't be comfortable in these jeans," then squeaks and covers her mouth with her hand.

Deeks snorts.

"I did not mean that the way I said it."

"But you did say it," Deeks says, giving her a squeeze. Then, offhand, "Anyway, I'm barred from any strenuous physical activity. Don't wanna pop my stitches or start bleeding internally."

She chokes a little and pats her hand on his thigh, saying, "Always the smooth talker, Marty Deeks."

"You know it," he says, and she turns her face into his shirt. "Hey, does this mean you're not going to punch me anymore?"

"You know I can't make a call like that," she says as she listens to his heartbeat, his chest solid against her cheek. She slides her hand up his t-shirt to his neck and feels his pulse there too, against the heel of her hand as her fingers find the hair at the nape of his neck. "This is kinda nice," she murmurs.

"Best place I've been in weeks," he replies, and there's a sleepy slowness to his words that she recognizes even if they've never fallen asleep together.

Perfectly content to let him drift off, Kensi closes her eyes and snuggles deeper into him, sliding her pinned arm between Deeks's back and the couch. This may not be the best place for a recently-discharged injured person to sleep, but it's a pretty cozy couch. She thinks he'll be okay, and her mind is getting hazy now anyway. The bed is too far away, and also it's her _bed_ and maybe she should take a minute before she invites him into it. But that thought is half-caught and disintegrates before she can get a grip on it. She's asleep.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The final part will be up this weekend. Did the premiere sneak up on anybody else? Eep.

Not long after Kensi's father died, she started training herself to wake up at any sign of a threat. At first she would doze through the night, waking in jerks and starts. With practice, she was able to fall into a deep sleep quickly and snap awake without revealing her awareness.

That's what happens now—she snaps awake, eyes still closed, and takes stock. There's no distortion in her memory of last night or her recognition of where she is.

So what woke her?

She doesn't wait long to find out. Deeks moans and shifts beside her. Though her first instinct is to check for a threat, she can tell within seconds that they're alone, nothing has changed, and it's still dark outside.

Tilting her head up slowly, she sees Deeks's hand twitching on his leg. From this angle she can only see the bottom of Deeks's chin, so to avoid waking him she pushes off the couch and slides slowly up his side. His head is still resting on the back of the couch, but his face flinches in his sleep.

She can tell now that what sounded like a moan is actually Deeks's slow, drugged voice saying, "No," over and over.

Her heart breaks again. She doesn't want to startle him, but she knows that when she has nightmares she is desperate to wake from them, so she brings her hand to his cheek and strokes it gently. He flinches again, his brow deeply furrowed, so she runs her thumbs over his eyebrows, smoothing them out. When he doesn't wake, she leans forward to press her cheek against his cheek, saying softly into his ear, "Deeks, wake up."

Abruptly, he stills, and Kensi leans back to find his eyes open, completely aware. He wakes as fast as she does; that doesn't surprise her.

It does take him a second longer to get his bearings, to shake off the nightmare. He could fake a smile, make a joke out of it; she sees him considering it.

In the end he just meets her serious gaze with his own and says, "Hey."

"Hey there."

"Sorry I woke you," and his voice is gravelly, sleep-touched still.

She has one hand near his face, the other propping her up off the couch. She shifts onto her knees and frames his face with both hands, saying, "I'm glad you did."

He tries to say something, opens his mouth to speak and closes it again; narrows his eyes and opens his mouth again but his tongue won't cooperate.

"It's okay, Deeks," she says, eye-to-eye. "I know how it is."

He searches her eyes for a moment and then nods.

It takes him another moment, then: "This time. It's hard for me to remember now anything worse. It's going to be with me a while."

"I know," she says, and her voice cracks. Her emotions are so close to the surface she can barely speak. "I'll be here whenever you need me. I'll do whatever I can, Deeks."

He looks at her for a long, long time, his expression indescribable. Then he gathers her in his arms and pulls her as close as possible, on his good side, and she wraps her arms around him and tucks her face into his neck.

"Hey, I just remembered something," she says.

"What's that?"

There's a flutter in her stomach, she almost chickens out, but she says it: "I love you."

Deeks takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly. "That's good to hear."

Kensi curls her hand around his neck to move his hair out of the way, presses her mouth to the side of his neck. "Are you going to be okay, Deeks?"

He holds her so tight, like he never wants to let her go. "I have to believe I will be."

"Don't come back until you're ready," she whispers, and he doesn't reply. She checks her watch; it's just turning four. "Can you sleep more?"

"Mmm," he grunts. "I think I need another pill."

She gently removes herself from his embrace and picks up the pill bottle off the table, reading the label. Every six hours, it says. She twists off the top and shakes out a pill, picks up the water bottle and opens it; hands them both to Deeks.

Kensi shifts from one foot to the other, glances back at the bedroom, looks at Deeks. "Do you want to move to the bed, Deeks?"

He sees her hesitation and smiles at it, a small smile, not mocking or amused but understanding. "Come back here," he says, holding out his arms, and Kensi curls up beside him on the couch again.

(It isn't that she isn't a cuddler, or a physically touchy person. It's that she's been building walls for so many years, was given ample reason to build those walls, and so she stopped touching people. Before this she could count the number of times she touched Deeks on purpose, not undercover, on two hands. So it's weird and normal and normal and weird but she _loves it_.)

"Are you comfortable?" Deeks asks, and Kensi nods. "I like the couch better right now. My ribs complain when I stretch out flat. If you're comfortable here, I can sleep here."

He doesn't suggest that she may sleep better in the bed, and she's grateful for it. He leans his head back against the cushion and she lays hers on his shoulder. Her hair falls over her face and she puts her hand over his heart.

"Remember," she says quietly, "when I was on the run—I'd been shot and I was on the run. I found somewhere out of sight and I called you."

"I remember," he says, and his voice is tight. Maybe he does.

"In that moment, I wasn't sure you'd find me in time. I didn't know what was going to happen, and I was so scared. But part of me knew, or hoped. You were the one who found me, Deeks." She sinks into his side, molds her body to his. Softer than ever, barely audible, she says, "I hope I always find you."

Deeks sniffles and Kensi looks up to see actual-fact tears trickling down the sides of his face. She says " _Deeks_ " and bursts into laughter; it's highly inappropriate but she can't help herself.

He joins her and says, "It's the drugs, I swear to god." Tears are still streaming down his face. "I can't control it, it's the drugs!"

They end up laughing themselves silly on the couch and the point gets somewhat lost. Kensi laughs so hard she has tears streaming down her face, too, so at least they're even on that front. Of course, Deeks is also groaning from the pain to his ribs, so it will never be fair, and Kensi tries to rein herself in ( _he's in pain, you idiot, stop this_ ) but sometimes hysteria strikes. Considering the stress and the fear of the past week or so, they kind of needed it.

Kensi falls to her side away from Deeks to stop from jostling him more than necessary, but when they run out of breath and settle down slightly, Deeks nudges her shoulder so she's lying on her back on the couch cushion. He eases his legs up under him so he can hover over her, and Kensi says, "Aren't you going to—" but he shushes her with a finger to the lips. (Big mistake, Deeks.)

(At least, it would be a big mistake if they were in a slightly different situation. As it is, Kensi fights the temptation to nip at his fingertip, but she's also holding her breath in anticipation.)

With a groan, Deeks lets himself down so he's lying on his good side between Kensi and the back of the couch. There, he turns her head slightly, looking at her as if she's a work of art. Kensi, still holding her breath, waits.

"We're partners," he says softly, and Kensi nods quickly, eyes wide. Finally he closes the gap between them, and though (he may feel) it would be more romantic if he could hold himself up, or if this could lead to _strenuous physical activity_ , he kisses her like it's going out of style, like she's a bottle of his favourite, most expensive wine (if he drank wine) and he's savouring her in sips, not gulps.

His hand rests lightly against her jaw and his thumb strokes the skin just underneath; Kensi's hand is flat against his cheek, not needing to guide him but only to feel his skin.

They kiss for an eternity, an infinity, or they would if it weren't for the fact that Deeks just took some heavy painkillers. He slows; and stops, his head sliding face-down onto the couch cushion.

"Sorry," he says, mouth clumsy from the drugs and muffled against the cushion. "I guess the pills…"

Kensi turns her head on the couch and tangles her fingers in Deeks's hair. She pets the back of his head and says, "It's okay, baby. You just need some more sleep." (It sounds a little bit like the way she would talk to a puppy, or a child if she were that kind of person.)

She can see the corner of his mouth turn up and he shifts slightly to say out the side of his mouth, "I'm never going to get used to you being nice to me."

Kensi guffaws. "You think this is going to last? I haven't had a personality transplant, Deeks. And, more to the point, neither have you."

" _Ouch_ ," he says forcefully, and turns his head the opposite way, so his face is completely enveloped by couch cushions. He's sulking, but Kensi continues to run her fingers through his hair and then down his back, tracing designs as she moves forward to place her mouth at the curve of his neck into his shoulder.

She sucks at the skin briefly, touches her tongue to it, then says against his skin, "I take that back. You have a very nice personality. But you delight in saying offensive things and we can both accept that that isn't going to change. There might be a honeymoon period but you're going to be pissing me off again in no time."

She stretches up, gets to her knees so she can lean over him and kiss his cheek, nip at his ear. "Accurate?"

He turns toward her, now having done a total 360 against the couch, and kisses her mouth. Freeing one hand, he touches her face again, like it's the most precious thing. "A honeymoon period is probably pushing it. I say I'll be pissing you off by morning."

Kensi smiles against his lips, kissing him (like fine wine, like the creamiest ice cream) for as long as her conscience will allow before she pulls away and says, "We'd better get back to sleep. I don't want to jeopardize your recovery."

He says, "Goody two-shoes," but he can hardly keep his eyes open anymore. Kensi helps him move his fatigue-weighted body back into a sitting position in the corner of the couch and curls up under his arm. She rests her cheek on his chest again, lays one palm flat against his shirt. She doesn't think she'll fall asleep, but the steady rise and fall of his breaths and the faint _thump… thump…_ against her cheek lulls her into a doze.

* * *

Kensi's watch alarm wakes her at 6am and she silences it before she even opens her eyes. Cracking one open to peek up at Deeks, she sees that he is still fast asleep with his mouth open a little. It's absurd, the things she feels now that she's given herself permission to feel them. She eases herself up and kisses his stubbly jaw before heading into her bedroom to shower and dress for the day.

Coming back into the main room, Kensi sees through the dim of blackout curtains at dawn that Deeks has his head up, looking around groggily. She walks over to the couch, perches on the arm beside him, and leans down to kiss his sleepy mouth.

"Hey baby," she says, entirely because she can. He blinks up at her and she digs her fingers into the hair at the back of his head. "I'm going in to work but you should keep sleeping here. There's food in the kitchen—er, at least, there's definitely something in the freezer—so help yourself, and just lock up when you leave. Okay?" He nods, head already drooping back onto the cushion. "You have your phone and your keys and the number for the taxi?"

"Kensiii," he whines. "I can take care of myself."

Not so sure, Kensi shifts her mouth to the side. "Sleep this pill off and then don't take another one until you're in your apartment, okay? Text me when you wake up and when you get home."

Raising a hand from the couch in a half-cocked salute, he says, "Yes ma'am."

Kensi curls her fingers in Deeks's hair and leans down again, saying, "Don't call me ma'am," before kissing him hard.

When she draws away, Deeks has his head back on the cushion with his eyes closed and a stupid little smile on his face. "Maybe I should call you baby instead."

Kensi twists her fingers in the sleeve of his shirt and says, "Why don't you stick with Kensi for now, smart guy."

As she turns to walk away, she hears from behind her, "I was right."

She turns back, plants her hands on her hips and cocks an eyebrow, though his eyes are still closed. "About what?"

"Pissing you off by morning."

The corner of her mouth goes up like it's drawn by a string and she drops her head, shaking it as her ponytail casts over her cheeks. She walks back as noiselessly as she can, leans down and kisses the tip of his nose, then his lips. He smiles against her and she mumbles, "Yeah, you were right."

"I'll take it," Deeks says as he settles back into the couch and opens his eyes just long enough to shoot her a signature grin. Then his eyes close and his face goes slack and Kensi lets herself out, feeling like she's walking just an inch or two off the ground.

* * *

It's not a question of whether they go too far when one of their own is compromised; they do, they always will. In these cases, the question becomes: Is the team whole?

When they can say yes, it counts as a win.

So it's not a question of will Kensi be able to do her job; of course she will, she's a professional. The question here is: What parts of the job can she do without backup?

The answer is: a lot of paperwork. Sure, she goes out with Callen and Sam when they need her, but that isn't often. And of course, she can do some reconnaissance alone; but a big job? Actual undercover? Not going to happen alone, and it isn't worth it to bring in a replacement for a week or two. If they nabbed a case of any urgency, they would find reinforcements.

Lucky for them all (as well as Los Angeles and/or the world), it's a quiet week. Unlucky for Kensi, that means a lot of paperwork.

Could she have done her job without flinching, without distraction? Yes. Does she spend most of her time at her desk daydreaming about Deeks? Also yes.

That first day, she gets the texts she wants—that is to say, the texts she asked for. No part of her wanted to answer the buzz of her phone to read _Naked in your kitchen_ , even if it was quickly followed by _Just kidding_ , and then _God, Kensi, there are some lines even I wouldn't cross._

_You should have more faith in me._

No one's around to see her drop her forehead to her desk, or the battle her face wages between grin and exasperation. She thumps her head gently on the wood three times, then picks up her phone and types _Idiot_ , deletes. _Jerk_ , deletes. _I hate you_ , deletes. _Thanks for the text_. Send.

He replies with a grinning emoticon and she feels like they understand each other.

As soon as she hits the road home, she tells her car to dial Deeks. It rings a few times before connecting with a muffled thump and a curse word.

Then, a throat clearing and a gruff "Hullo?"

"Guess who," she says.

"Um," he says, and she can hear him take the phone away from his ear and put it back. "I don't recognize the number. Who is this please?"

"Oh ha ha. I guess you don't want me to bring any fresh, delicious dinner home for you."

"Sounds like a woman," he says musingly. "A woman offering to buy me dinner. Okay, how could I refuse?"

"You're pretty quick for an invalid," she huffs. "I'm serious, I'll let you starve."

"No you won't," he says, and the fondness is back in his voice. Kensi presses her lips together, squinting at the road, and Deeks says, "A burrito would be wonderful! Thank you, Kensi. You're an angel."

"Yeah, keep working on that," she replies, ending the call and checking over her shoulder to make the turn to their favourite burrito place.


	4. Chapter 4

When she lets herself in, Deeks is on the couch, looking sleepy-eyed but alert. There's a bottle of water in front of him and a beer at the other end of the table.

Kensi drops the bag of food on the couch and leans down to kiss him, quickly, because she's starving.

"Look at you being all responsible," she says.

"Told you I can take care of myself."

She nods and rolls her eyes ceiling-ward as she takes her seat at the other end of the couch. With her back to the arm she crosses her legs and pulls her burrito out of the bag and into her lap.

"Did you find something for lunch?" she asks before taking a massive bite of her burrito.

Deeks grabs his own burrito and says, "Your freezer is full of Hungry Man Dinners."

Kensi nods, mouth full.

"You're not a man."

"Give me a break, Deeks, I work hard and I have a fast metabolism."

He shrugs his eyebrows and grins, taking a bite and tapping his cheek at the same time. Kensi grabs a napkin and wipes sour cream off her face. She scrunches up her nose and Deeks rocks slightly in a silent laugh.

"Thanks for dinner," Deeks says when they're finished. He smiles down the couch and Kensi leans back and pats her belly.

"These are not dinner jeans," she says.

He looks her over from head to toe and grins, then asks, "Do you want to borrow something?"

"Um…" She eyes him carefully, checking for ulterior motives. He looks essentially angelic (suspicious in itself) and her jeans are making it hard to breathe so she says, "Sure."

Deeks closes his eyes and puts out his hand, pointing to the left and then down. Kensi watches him incredulously until he opens his eyes and says, "Left side, third drawer from the top."

Kensi beams and hops up off the couch. "Neat trick." When she comes back into the room she's rolling the waist of a pair of gray sweatpants, before pulling the drawstring as tight as possible.

Then she looks up, shy, and sees Deeks watching her. "This cannot be sexy."

But his eyes are on the thin strip of skin revealed between her form-fitting t-shirt and the oversized sweat pants. He bites his lip on a smile and shakes his head, then holds out his arms and says, "C'mere."

Kensi walks over to kneel again over his lap. She smiles when she gets there, cupping his jaw with both hands. "God, I missed you."

Deeks grins uncontrollably, that open-mouthed grin that cuts right through the tangles in Kensi's stomach.

She kisses him then, wrapping her arms around his neck and remembering that sad look he wore so often just a couple weeks ago. She kisses him to erase that look, not just from his eyes but from their memories and their future. She kisses him like she's drowning and he's her air. That's what it feels like, most of the time.

Some things passed her by, oblivious, but some things stick in her mind.

_Are you in love with your partner?_

_Why would you—you're just his partner._

And then: _That's not true._ The way he said it, like maybe he'd been talking all along and she'd had her ears stopped to any of it.

It was his eyes that said it, and that was what—eventually, finally—cracked her open. Things go unsaid, but there's always a breaking point—if things are ever going to move forward. Finally, she asked for what she wanted, and he answered. Maybe it had been that simple all along.

She kisses him because she loves him, his stupid puppy dog face and his stupid shaggy hair and his stupid humor that almost always makes her smile. He's a complete idiot and one of the greatest men she's ever known and she loves him, she does.

She kisses him and then they break apart and look one another in the eye. She can feel the soppy affection in her gaze and she thinks she sees the same in him.

She hasn't been soppy in nearly a decade and it takes a great effort now, but she trusts Deeks more than anyone else, barring maybe her mom, so who else could she possibly show herself to?

So she whispers, looking in his eyes, "I love you, Deeks," and immediately the look on his face makes her wonder why she would ever be afraid.

He murmurs, "I love you, Kens," and kisses her again.

Every kiss they have, it seems, holds relief and gratitude and sheer adoration. They waited so long. Why did they wait so long?

It's sweet, this kissing without agenda or potential, kissing just to kiss. It reminds Kensi of junior high, but without the terror.

At one point, Deeks stops her and says, "I'm sorry we can't—" and Kensi smiles half a sweet smile and shakes her head, weaving her fingers through Deeks's hair. She tugs a bit and tilts her head, saying softly, "I like this."

"It's not how I normally do things…" he says, but he seems halfway to the conclusion Kensi has already reached.

"That's more us, though, isn't it?" Her question lilts uncertainly; she doesn't have the confidence to say this thing boldly, not just yet.

Deeks's hands tighten on her waist, spanning the curve of it from ribcage to pelvis. He doesn't pull her too close, for obvious and less obvious reasons.

"It is pretty us, isn't it?" He smirks, not cocky but pleased. "But you know, once I'm cleared…"

Kensi squirms a little. "Yeah. Don't go there."

Deeks smiles quietly and bends forward just slightly to kiss Kensi softly, cementing the pleasure of a simple kiss.

Then she moves to his good side and they spend the rest of the night watching reality TV. Deeks takes a pill and passes out shortly, though when Kensi tries to slip away, he wakes up enough to tighten his arm around her and say, "Hey."

Night is falling outside, and she pushes against him gently. "Baby. Should I go sleep at home?"

"That sounds like a terrible idea," he slurs, so she stays. There will come a time where she sets boundaries and maintains balance, but let's be real, now is not that time. She is still insanely grateful he's alive, feeling protective and wanting to take care of him, so she wraps her arms tight around the uninjured parts of him and settles in for another night on the couch.

Just as she's drifting off he murmurs, "Maybe tomorrow we can sleep in a bed," and she grins ridiculously huge before forcing herself to chill out and go to sleep.

This goes on for days: Kensi goes to work and Deeks microwaves meals, sleeps a lot, reads some. Kensi comes home with food and they while away the evening.

(That second day, she sent Hetty to the hospital with a colour tablet loaded with books and movies she thought he'd like. A tool that only required one or two functioning fingers seemed perfect at that point. She asked Hetty not to tell him who it was from but _Hetty_ wouldn't claim it and it's not hard to guess. At least if she couldn't be there to help pass the hours, she could help in other ways.

These days on the couch, sometimes one of them will read to the other; Deeks shows her his favourite games; they don't mention the provenance of the device. Not everything has to be said aloud.)

Deeks starts taking Monty for leisurely walks and by the fifth day, he stops taking the pain medication altogether.

They start sleeping in his bed. Deeks lays flat on his back—no twisting or turning, no bending—and Kensi curls carefully into his side. It's so nice to be in a bed again, to be able to stretch out, but it's even nicer to be together, to sleep together.

They each think the same thing: when Deeks is better, they'll figure out a balance. This is temporary. This—this clinging, cloying, codependent attachment—is only for this transition period. They swear to it, in their own minds.

Kensi reminds herself that nothing lasts, everyone leaves. She doesn't have to remind herself, because the belief has been a part of her for years, decades. Normally she wouldn't let this happen—let herself get so close to someone, dangerously close, well within the perimeter of "it will destroy you (if) (when) if he leaves." She's trying to believe, she's making lists of all the reasons she should believe, but how can she not be afraid? After everything she's been through.

When her mother returned to her life, it began a process of Kensi learning how to let people _in_ instead of guarding, blocking, pushing them _out_. Obviously, it was not quick, and it was not easy. But it led to this.

As long as she and Deeks are together she gets it, it all makes sense. It's when they are apart—when she`s working, mostly, and trying to figure out how it will all fit together—that she wonders what in the hell she is doing.

But it`s Deeks. That`s what she keeps coming back to. That would have been the exact reason to run a year, two years ago. But it's Deeks, now, and she knows Deeks now. Not perfectly, but she knows him. And that is what tells her this is going to be okay. It's Deeks.

That Saturday, Deeks has his post-discharge check-up. Kensi drives him and waits in the car, radio on, tapping her fingers on the wheel not in time to the music but to the beat of her nerves.

Deeks comes out grinning, leans across the gear shift to kiss her without saying a word. Kensi is powerless to resists, weakens at the taste of him.

When she pulls away, she says, "Well?"

Deeks grins, again. "I'm cleared for light yard work and putting, but not driving."

Mouth twisting, Kensi tries to figure out whether that is supposed to be a double-entendre. She doesn't much care.

"Great," she says, and shifts into gear.

She takes them back to her place for the first time since that first night. She's come home to shower and dress for work but Deeks has stayed mostly in his own apartment. It made more sense, then, but now she wants to be in her space. For them to be together in her space.

Kensi has helped him change his bandages, has checked his wounds for him, and in many ways that brought a new intimacy to their relationship.

But as they circle her apartment now, as Kensi carefully leaves the length of a room between them, she knows it's about to change. They've exchanged words of love, kissed, been as close as it's possible to be with clothes on. They didn't want to approach anything more when Deeks was still so potentially delicate.

Not that Deeks was ever really delicate. He watches her now from across the room, quiet and patient with those eyes of his trained on her.

"Do you want a beer?" he asks quietly, and Kensi drops her head and shakes it. She sees him lick his lips, swallow hard, and he says, "We don't have to—"

"No," Kensi says.

"It's just an arbitrary—"

"No," she says again.

_We've gone too far to turn back now, anyway,_ she thinks, and that doesn't seem like a good reason to do anything. _You love him,_ she thinks. _This isn`t going to change anything. Look at him. He loves you._

And when she looks at his sad eyes now, that's all she sees. Love. She wants to stop making him sad. She wants to stop denying herself exactly what she wants just because she's scared.

On that thought she pushes off, walks steadily across the room. When she reaches him she slips her fingers up under the hem of his shirt, down just past the waistband of his jeans, and she tugs.

Caught off balance, Deeks take a step forward. His leg passes her hip and his arms go snug around her waist and suddenly she's right between his legs and Deeks's breathing changes.

"I can't live my life afraid," she says, and he says, "Okay," back, his voice gone high.

She looks him in the eyes, the backs of her fingers against his abs, and he tries so hard to focus, to keep his eyes from dropping to her lips, but it's a losing battle and she takes pity on him, kissing him now with every filthy thought in her mind. He groans and his hands slip down to her ass, pulling her hips closer to him.

If this were a romantic comedy (not that Kensi watches those) (except with her mom) she would wrap her legs around Deeks's waist and he would carry her to the bed. But it isn't, and Deeks is still hurt, so she takes him by the hand and leads him into the bedroom.

The bed is neatly made, a rarity in Kensi-land, but she hasn't been in it in nearly a week. She pushes him gently back onto the bed, then kneels over his hips and slides his shirt up his abdomen, slowly, studying him. The sight of the bruising causes a flash of that fear in her belly and she lays her palm gently over it, kisses around the edges. When Deeks groans, she looks up and smirks, pulling the shirt off over his head.

As soon as she's done that, Deeks pushes off the bed with his hands into a sitting position. Kensi is in his lap and he makes quick work of her top, taking her bra with it.

It's pretty impressive, and Kensi says "Wow" before she can stop herself.

There's only a second for Kensi to begin feeling exposed before Deeks brings their torsos together and kisses her. She gets used to the air on her bare skin, the slight friction of his chest against her nipples, so when he lowers his head to nibble at her neck and at the same time brings his hands up to gently cup her breasts, she's ready and arches into him.

Breathless, her neck angled to allow him access, Kensi says, "Your jeans."

" _Your_ jeans," Deeks replies, and she swats at his bicep.

"Five four three two one naked?" she asks and Deeks pulls away—reluctantly—and nods like an excited puppy dog.

They go to opposite corners, strip off their remaining clothes, then run back and hop on the bed. Kensi curls into an upright ball, ankles tight together, while Deeks sits cross-legged on the bed, his penis standing up and waving at her.

He seems to have no body shame and Kensi both loves him and hates him for it. She herself knows she has a bangin' body—how many times, after all, have they used her sexual attractiveness on a job? That doesn't give her pause at all—but being here with Deeks, naked, is different.

They eye each other across the bed for a moment or two, and then Deeks reaches over, extending his legs and taking Kensi by the upper arms. She lets her limbs loosen up and Deeks pulls her toward him. He lays out flat on the bed and lays Kensi out flat on top of him.

Despite (or maybe along with) his penis pressing into her hip, the full-body press grounds her and reminds her why she's there.

She allows herself a moment to simply squish on him, then plants her left hand by his shoulder and levers herself up, using her right hand to sweep the hair out of her face. He's waiting cautiously for her reaction, and when she grins at him he grins back with his mouth hanging open. It does her so good to see him happy, and she kisses him then. She pushes off the bed with one foot to slide further up his body, and the friction makes him groan. She smiles against his lips and sneaks one hand down to wrap around him.

He whines, just a little, from the back of his throat, and Kensi laughs against him, pulling back to reach over to her nightstand for a condom. She hasn't had sex in more than a year, but she's always been the type to prepare.

She sits up on his thighs—and for a moment, she pauses to search his eyes. There's the strain, the desire, but above all, and the reason he's holding himself so still and silent, there is the love. She sees it as clearly as if it were written in his irises.

So she sheds her fear, her self-consciousness, and splits her focus between his eyes and the feel of him inside of her.

It works—boy does it work—and at the end they cling together, on their sides. Deeks reaches down to pull the blanket up over their shoulders, and Kensi sighs against his chest.

"I hope that's a happy sigh," Deeks says, his voice rumbling through her.

"It's an… I-can't-believe-I'm-so-in-love-with-my-partner sigh," she replies, and he squeezes her a little tighter.

She frees an arm, pinned between their chests, to inch over his back, trying to memorize the bones and muscles, the parts of him she was never allowed to see.

Her life has changed now, she knows that. Deeks will never be "just" her partner again, and she thinks to herself: _That happened a long time ago_. They didn't mark it, didn't name it—went to great lengths _not_ to name it, but it was there. Deeper. Farther.

She trusts him with her life, and over the years, over the relentless flirting and serious puppy-dog eyes, she's been learning to trust him with her heart. She knows she does, now. There's no doubt in her mind or fear in her gut, not about him. He's Deeks. A year ago that would have meant something completely different. Now it means that he's hers and she's his and until or unless something changes, that's how it's going to be.

She runs her hand up his back to his neck and scratches her fingers into the hair on the back of his head.

"It's still Saturday?" she asks, and he hums in response. "My mama has family dinners on Sunday. You'll come, won't you?"

She can feel the instant he stills, holds his breath—and she's holding hers, too.

He moves his own hand up to cup the back of her head and tilts her so he can see her eyes. For a minute he just looks, and then he says, "You're sure?" and the trepidation in his voice makes her heart seize.

"Absolutely one hundred percent certain," she says, holding his eyes, and instantly they crinkle with the grin taking over his face.

"What should we bring?" he asks gleefully, and Kensi presses her forehead to his chest.

"I don't care, but you aren't using my kitchen."

THE END


End file.
